


Suit of Armor

by kimposibl



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 06:50:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3886447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimposibl/pseuds/kimposibl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Kingsman agent is a gentleman first and foremost. Harry Hart is a Kingsman agent, though in this case the Rule of Inference does not apply.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suit of Armor

**Author's Note:**

> My attempt at a Fix-It and unrepentant Harry/Eggsy smut with some semblance of a plot.
> 
> Un-Beta'd. Not Brit-picked. Read at your own risk!

 

Harry would have stayed dead if he’d known Merlin was going to bully him into taking the Arthur position. It was a possibility even before the previous Arthur’s death, but Harry hadn’t thought about it much. He enjoyed field work more than sitting behind a desk, pushing paper. Although the Kingsman operate without the hindrance of bureaucracy, Arthur is the bureaucracy of the Kingsman, as much a figurehead as he is the sole bearer of all responsibility for the missions. Merlin gathers intelligence and presents them to Arthur. Arthur directs the Kingsman knights and allocates all other resources.

 

Arthur, in essence, translates to a government worker, and Harry hates it. The only benefit of all this is that the Galahad position becomes available for immediate filling by Eggsy Unwin.

 

Merlin filed the report on V-Day and relinquished all mission footage for Harry’s perusal as soon as Harry was instated as Arthur. To say that Harry was impressed with Eggsy’s and Roxy’s performances would have been an understatement. The young agents barely finished training before they were thrust into a mission to save world. Even Harry can’t claim to have had such an immediate impact of massive proportions, and Eggsy and Roxy pulled it off beautifully. They had Merlin to guide them, but he needed them as much as they needed him.

 

Harry had come back to London after several days in the hospital in Kentucky. His Kingsman glasses had been shattered to hell by Valentine’s bullet, and it is only because of them he is still alive and functioning. The lens frame had absorbed most the impact, allowing the bullet to do no more than make a hairline fracture on Harry’s skull, right above his left eye socket. He had been in an induced coma for a few days because of some swelling, after which he had called Merlin with an SOS.

 

Merlin had arrived immediately with one of their smaller jets and apparently hadn’t been able to shake off Eggsy, who had demanded to come along. Harry remembers Eggsy’s sweet smile of joy, his eyes red rimmed with unshed tears, and the long, rib crushing hug he had received from the young man when they saw each other. Harry can’t recall the last time he’d felt as happy as he had with Eggsy in his arms, and the reality that he’d almost lost the opportunity to be with him had been earth shattering. They’d fought, he remembered at the time. Harry had been disappointed, and Eggsy had looked like his heart was breaking. They’d nearly left each other like that.

 

“You’re a right git,” Eggsy had murmured into Harry’s dirty and bloodied suit. “I’ll never forgive you.”

 

Harry had held him, his sweet boy, tighter. “I know, Eggsy.”

 

Despite Eggsy’s harsh words, he refused to let Harry out of his sight even for a second for the next couple of weeks. It exasperated Harry at first; Eggsy practically followed him everywhere and occasionally, so would JB. Merlin made a joke about a mother hen with her chicks, but even chicks knew the concept of personal space and searching for other things to do. When Eggsy wasn’t on a mission, he was in Arthur’s study in the Kingsman estate, he was in the cab on the way to Harry’s house, and he was sleeping on the couch instead of the guest room because then Eggsy could ‘make sure nothing would go in or out the door,’ as if Harry’s bedroom didn’t have a balcony. Harry didn’t think Eggsy would feel so attached to him, especially after the way they left things before he went to Kentucky, but the world nearly ending probably put things into perspective for Eggsy the same way that nearly dying had done for Harry, and bygones were bygones.

 

Now, Harry enjoys Eggsy’s company. His constant presence has become reassuring and familiar. But it’s on the twelfth day of his return, when they are sitting in his home office, Eggsy fighting to stay awake over his new mission dossier, that Harry realizes how not good all of this is.

 

Eggsy is a young man. A young, beautiful man. He’s pure hearted and kind and quick to smile. His sarcastic and (sometimes) outlandish sense of humor is charming even though it gets him into trouble on most days, but it’s sincere and that’s what affects Harry the most. If Harry is a good man, if he’s ever thought of anyone but himself, he’d tell Eggsy to be careful. He’d tell him to go home, to enjoy his free time outside of Kingsman to pursue anyone but a selfish, greedy old man such as himself.

 

“You’ve had a long day, Eggsy,” Harry says, not looking up from his laptop but not reading anything that’s on it either. It’s true. Eggsy just had a two hour debriefing from his last mission in Cairo earlier that day, and Merlin handed him a new mission objective at near end of day. “You should go home.”

 

Eggsy blinks awake and stretches, his dossier falling to the floor from his lap. Harry glances over because he can’t help himself. He loves the way Eggsy’s hair falls out of place when he bends down to pick up the strewn papers. He often thinks of running his hands through the silken ash blonde locks.

 

“What time is it?” Eggsy croaks.

 

“Half past midnight.”

 

“Shit.” Eggsy straightens and brushes his hair out of his face in one smooth motion. Harry returns his attention to his laptop. “Alright.” He gets up and leaves the dossier on the armchair. He starts walking out of the study.

 

“Home, Eggsy,” Harry reiterates firmly. He says it every night that Eggsy’s there, but to no avail. Eggsy throws his arms out and looks around, as if saying, ‘where do you think this is?’ He leaves the room. Harry hears footsteps climbing up the stairs and leans back in his seat with a resigned sigh. His will isn’t strong enough to deny that infuriating boy, and he doesn’t want it to be, ever.

 

But for Eggsy’s sake, it has to.

 

This burgeoning feeling he has for Eggsy started as soon as Eggsy walked out of the police station. He’d seen the boy’s file after he received the call for the favor, but the picture the Royal Marines had of him had paled in comparison to the real thing. Eggsy hadn’t thanked him for getting him out, or asked how he did it, and Harry found it surprisingly refreshing to meet someone who defies expectations. Then at the pub,  - because Harry invited him out for a drink to chat, not ready to leave him just yet – Eggsy had smiled at him, and a fucking arrow went straight through Harry’s heart. From that moment, Eggsy only continued to ensnare him with his loyalty, charisma, and unwavering conviction to make him proud, that by the time Harry realized what was happening, he’d fallen so deep for the boy that the only thing he could do was let himself sink further.

 

The depths are dark and all consuming. Harry really should have been more vigilant. But would he have wanted to? Could he have been?

 

No. Impossible. Eggsy had been correct in hesitating before stepping into the dressing room with him.

 

\--

 

The next morning, Harry showers and dresses for the day by seven a.m. He goes downstairs and wakes Eggsy, his usual routine for the last couple weeks, but before he shakes him awake, he indulges himself in the vision before him. Vulnerable and oh so sweet, like ripe, low hanging fruit, its all Harry can do most days not to reach out and take. He could drag him lips down the column of Eggsy’s neck while slipping a hand under the blanket to feel soft, warm skin. Eggsy would probably arch into him in his sleep and make quiet, sweet noises as Harry’s hand moves over him, possessing.

 

“Eggsy,” he says instead before his thoughts can manifest themselves. Eggsy shifts, fighting lucidity. Harry allows himself a smile before crouching and shaking him awake, once, on a blanketed shoulder, because he can’t tempt himself further by touching bare skin. He stands as soon as Eggsy’s eyes flutter open. “You should sleep in a proper bed,” he admonishes mildly.

 

“I’ve slept in worse places,” Eggsy grumbles, sitting up and planting his feet on the floor. Harry steps back to give him space. Eggsy’s shirtless, clad in nothing but boxers probably. Harry swallows thickly, his mouth suddenly drier than the goddamn Sahara (Harry’s been there. He knows exactly how fucking dry it is).

 

“That is why, when given the opportunity to sleep in a bed, you should,” Harry says and moves to the kitchen to make them breakfast.

 

Eggsy mumbles unintelligibly under his breath. Harry goes through the motions of filling the kettle and putting toast in the toaster. He takes out a few eggs from the fridge. Eventually he hears the shower come on and relaxes. Eggsy has accumulated quite a bit of personal belongings in Harry’s home that he can easily stay for days on end without having to go back to his, and the old hermit in Harry should be protesting at the change but a larger part of him only thinks about how much closer he is to keeping Eggsy here with him.

 

“D’you need dry cleaning done?” Eggsy asks, coming up behind him. “I need some so I can take your things if you want.”

 

“I’m fine,” Harry lies, scraping the scrambled eggs onto two plates. He pulls out the toast and puts in two more (he’ll be needing a four slice toaster, at this point) and gives the plate to Eggsy. Eggsy takes it with a mumbled, “’fanks,” and moves past him to get silverware. Harry focus in on him.

 

“Did you use my aftershave?” he asks, forcing an even tone of voice. Eggsy pulls out two forks from a drawer.

 

“Yeah. I don’t usually use that stuff, but I figured I’d try it. Why?” Eggsy looks at him innocently. Harry turns back at the toaster, his body carefully angled away from Eggsy’s and thankful for the apron covering his crotch. It’s bad enough that Eggsy uses Harry’s soap, his shampoo, conditioner, and hair products, but for Eggsy to smell like him so _glaringly_ will shatter any delusions he has of maintaining proper gentlemanly conduct around Eggsy.

 

“Do you just go around using what isn’t yours?” Harry says, his frustration bleeding through his voice. He can see Eggsy smile and shrug like its his goddamn right to take and take from Harry, unaware of any limits, of the tenuous thread that is Harry’s self-control.

 

“I didn’t take much,” Eggsy says. Harry closes his eyes slowly because it fucking smells like he used half the goddamn bottle, and Harry’s been using that brand since he first started Kingsman; people will _know_ for Christ’s sakes. “It smells nice. I’ll buy you more if it’ll make you feel better,” Eggsy adds, as if Harry is being stingy. He takes his plate to the dining table just as the toaster pops up. “I’ve got your fork.”

 

Harry takes a deep breath as he pours two mugs of tea and brings it to the table. He goes back to get his plate and container of milk. Eggsy spreads honey on his toast. Harry prefers jam, though he could certainly lick very slowly the trace of the golden substance off Eggsy’s thumb.

 

Outside, London is well into his daily grind of smog and numbers. In here, Harry can live in this illusion of domesticity. Maybe one day Eggsy will have a life outside of Kingsman with a civilian spouse worthy of him, who will bake pies and have dinner waiting for him when he gets home. Harry can’t offer any of those things. He can’t even offer a lifetime. What is Eggsy even doing with him? Is keeping an old man company supposed to be a form of gratitude? Harry merely showed him the door to Kingsman; Eggsy turned the knob and walked through it on his own. Harry isn’t normally this self-conscious, but when he sees the morning light cast a halo around Eggsy’s blonde head, he can’t help question the turn of events that keeps Eggsy returning to him.

 

“Eggsy,” he begins once they’re done with breakfast. Eggsy looks up from half the morning paper he took from Harry. “You do know you don’t have to stay. I’m fine, and I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Eggsy turns back to his paper. “What, you getting’ tired of me?” he jokes, but his voice is a little heavy even to Harry’s ears. Harry thinks about Eggsy’s hug, Eggsy’s fists in his jacket. He stares at the younger man’s profile, from the fan of his lashes to the curve of his chin, and wishes he could confess to Eggsy the ways that Harry will never, ever tire of him.

 

“No, of course not.”

 

“If it’s about the aftershave, ‘m sorry.” Eggsy looks at him, remorseful. Harry shakes his head. The boy is making this harder than it has to be.

 

“It’s not that. You can use as much as you want.” Eggsy becomes confused. Harry licks his lips. “I’m happy you’ve been so resilient, but it’s time for us to move on from this, don’t you think?”

 

A wide range of emotions crosses Eggsy’s face, from surprise to pain to acceptance. Being so transparent is considered a weakness for a Kingsman agent, but on Eggsy, it’s guileless and adorable, and Harry would have him no other way. He would gladly take Eggsy should Kingsman no longer want him, but Harry is Arthur, and Arthur will always want him as Galahad.

 

“No yeah, you’re right.” Eggsy gives him a weak smile and stands. Harry immediately knows something is off, but he can’t pursue it because this is what’s best, and he always does what is best, what is the most gentlemanly thing to do. There was a time when the two coincided with what Harry wanted for himself.

 

Eggsy clears their dishes. Harry finishes his tea slowly, waiting until Eggsy’s finished with the sink so he can wash his cup. His hand trembles.

 

They take a cab together to the shop sitting as far apart as possible. Eggsy hasn’t said much where usually he’d be chatting Harry’s ear off, and Harry countlessly finds himself ready to stay something before deciding better of it. He can’t give Eggsy mixed signals. If they are going to put this rift between them, Harry needs to resolve to keep it there.

 

At the shop, Harry heads for the steps to the dining room since he’s overdue for a meeting with Bors. Eggsy immediately goes to fitting room two for transport to the Kingsman estate.

 

“See you, then,” Eggsy mutters as they part. Harry turns in time to see Eggsy close the door behind him. He’d like to follow him in, push him back against a mirror, and kiss apologies onto his skin. His fists clench at his sides as he jogs up the steps.

 

\--

 

Eggsy hasn’t been around Harry or followed him home in weeks. He hasn’t had many missions, though one did send him and Roxy to Budapest for a few days. Harry continues to push paper and monitor the training reports Merlin sends him. Eggsy is doing excellently, of course, as is Roxy. Between missions, the young agents are responsible for maintaining their skills and physical fitness. According to Merlin, Galahad and Lancelot spend much of their time together at HQ and outside. Harry tries not to react to the comment, but the years Harry spent controlling his expression are always wasted in front of Merlin.

 

Kay sends information from South Africa on a Dutchman involved in gaining national secrets through the use of young escorts, and it becomes the top priority at Kingsman. Kay stumbled on Henry Alcott’s name in the middle of his mission on drug smuggling and gave it to Merlin to look into. Merlin gathered so little intel that he made it into a mission. An agent would have to go undercover to gain more access to the escort service and to Alcott himself.

 

Harry leans back in his chair as Merlin presents his findings on Alcott himself. Alcott comes from very old money, his ancestry tracing all the way back to the early stock investors in Amsterdam. Apparently, he spends all his time at every charity event known to man, from the WHO to local Salvation Army, and at political fundraisers. He’s middle aged, unwed, and extremely handsome.

 

“No criminal record. A few speeding tickets here and there. He makes money through trade but he donates so much to charity he barely pays any taxes,” Merlin is saying. “He travels constantly.” Merlin brings up multiple pictures and surveillance footage onto the screen. “Here he is with the Chinese consulate, the Prime Minister of Egypt, the British Ambassador to the US and several US Senators.” He is also seen speaking with politicians from multiple countries, a different beautiful woman by his side in each one, probably a translator. Since these are all at public events, there’s no way to tell that anything nefarious is going on. “He’s impeccable. Nothing unusual in any record of him,” Merlin concedes. In their experience, the worst criminals have the most ordinary public profiles.

 

“And Kay’s resource is solid?” Harry asks, taking off his glasses wearily.

 

“Yes. I’ve found some information on Alcott’s escort service itself. It requires a special invitation, a plain white card. His clubs are extremely exclusive and operate at the highest level of discretion. They are located in ten countries, including here in London, though I don’t know where exactly.”

 

“How do the clients find him?”

 

“He finds them, apparently. If anyone is directed to him, he screens them. He is the only one who distributes the cards, as far as I can tell.”

 

“Shit,” Harry says. This mission is starting to sound like a lot of work and resources. “Please tell me you have a plan.”

 

“The escorts are recruited very young, so we can’t go that route. Our best bet would be coming in as a client.”

 

“Where the hell can we get one? Any politician of Kingsman relation is a civilian and an utter twat.” Merlin chuckles, never unamused with Arthur’s rare use of vulgarities.

 

“I’m so glad you asked, Arthur. We wouldn’t necessarily need a politician. Any wealthy man will do.”

 

Harry knows what Merlin is saying without him having to say it. Harry gets up and pours himself a drink. It’s not that he doesn’t want to do the field work. He’s jumping at the opportunity to get off his arse.

 

“Are you sure we can’t go in as an escort?”

 

“Positive.”

 

It’s not that Harry is uncomfortable with the mission perameters. He has played many, many roles as a Kingsman agent. Honeypot missions are very few as a male, but seduction is a basic and useful skill Harry has refined and practiced over the years. As Oscar Wilde once quoted _, Everything in the world is about sex except sex. Sex is about power_. These types of missions always require him to pull the character from deep with himself, and Harry is never pleased with who he has to become in order to be successful, no matter how transient. The truth is, if Harry ever forgets who he is, he can easily become him. Harry can play the game, though what he has to do to gain Alcott’s interest and his trust will require his best efforts.

 

“What would you like me to do, Merlin?”

 

\--

 

Merlin gives out dossiers to Harry, Eggsy, and Roxy the next day in Arthur’s office. Roxy and Eggsy just finished martial arts training with no more than ten minutes to freshen up, apparently. They’re seated on the couch, still damp from the showers and haphazardly dressed, and Harry is at his desk while Merlin stands between the two.

 

“Just to bring you up to speed, Lancelot and Galahad, our target is Henry Alcott, Dutch businessman. Not only is he involved in sex trafficking of minors, he is using it as a means to collect information from his clients whose profiles range from high ranking political figures and celebrities to entrepreneurs. The details in your dossier contain all the information we have on him and his business. It’s a short read. I know.

 

“The immediate mission objective is to gain more access to Alcott’s escort service. Long term, we would want to eliminate any of his information stores and provide enough evidence to convict him of sex trafficking to destroy his business.

 

“The mission is in three days from now – a Gala at the Mandarin Oriental. Arthur is to engage with the target. Lancelot, you will be a cocktail waitress and track Alcott as well as provide any support to Arthur. Galahad, you will be – “

 

“Wait, Arthur?” Eggsy interjects rather forcefully. Both Merlin and Harry raise their eyebrows at him. Roxy stares at him, stunned.

 

“Is there a problem, Galahad?” Merlin says, facing him. Eggsy looks between Merlin and Harry, an argument on his lips that visibly bites back.

 

A few beats pass. “No, Merlin,” he concedes, brows furrowing at his dossier. Merlin shares a look with Harry. Harry’s mouth thins in disapproval.

 

“As I was saying, Galahad, you will be part of the hotel staff. You will take note of any suspicious couples. Be very discriminating. But do not engage. Arthur is our point of contact. We need to get Alcott to give him a card, ideally by the end of this Gala. The sooner we do this, the quicker we can proceed to the next stages.”

 

Roxy asks about weapons and surveillance equipment. As Merlin answers, Harry looks over at Eggsy, who doesn’t look thrilled at all with the mission. His eyes are on the dossier, but they aren’t moving. Harry can think of ten good reasons why Eggsy would be upset, but none of them apply to his character so his reaction doesn’t make any sense. Eggsy doesn’t care about being a hero, so that eliminates six of the reasons. If he wanted sex, then that would answer for two reasons, but Eggsy can get that for free, certainly. The remaining two concern Harry’s involvement in the mission and while Harry is old, he is neither fragile nor inept – in every sense of the word – if that’s what Eggsy’s concerned about. The mission as Merlin outlined it is perfect.

 

“Any other questions?” Merlin asks, meeting each other their eyes. “Alright. The Gala is in three days. We will reconvene on the day of to tie up any loose ends. Until then, I expect all of you to know that dossier as well as the back of your hand, especially the blueprint of the hotel’s first floor as a precaution. You’re all free to go.”

 

Merlin, Roxy, and Eggsy all file out. Harry settles more comfortably in his chair and begins to read.

 

\--

 

Harry hasn’t been working out at the gym as intensely since he got back from Kentucky as he used to. He also hadn’t been expecting field work, either (not that it should have been an excuse). Two days before the Gala, Harry is in the Kingsman gym boxing with Tristan, a tall, broad brunet in his mid-thirties with hazel eyes. Usually, Harry goes for a run in the mid afternoon when he can squeeze in the time, maybe lift some weights. Harry has no one to impress, certainly not the young escorts being paid to engage in sex, but missions can go awry, and while he doesn’t expect to fend off highly trained armed guards, it’s best to re-familiarize himself with the movements.

 

The paperwork is piling up on his desk, but Merlin can handle it.

 

Tristan throws a left hook, which Harry successfully dodges and plants a punch in his solar plexus. Tristan stumbles back, laughing breathlessly, and returns with a feint to Harry’s guarded left flank but follows through with an uppercut. Harry tips his head back in the last second to avoid it and uses the opening to land a solid right hook. Tristan falls flat on his back with a groan. Harry takes out his mouthpiece.

 

“Alright?” he asks.

 

“Yeah, gimme a sec.” Harry helps him up. Tristan removes his mouth piece as Harry starts unstrapping his gloves. “You’re still pretty spry for an Arthur.”

 

“If you and Merlin were trying to get me fat on my arse, you were a decade too early.”

 

“Just retire already. Jesus.”

 

“You are rude, Tristan,” Harry says dryly. Tristan grins and playfully jabs him on the side. Albert Cross had been Chester King’s proposal for Tristan a decade ago, but he hadn’t been a snob with a sense of entitlement like Harry’s expected. They worked on a mission together in Tibet that resulted in a night of fraternization. Harry doesn’t regret it, and as far as he is concerned, neither does Albert, but they decided it was a one-time thing that had more to do with adrenaline and sexual frustration than anything more complicated. Aside Merlin, he is Harry’s friend in addition to being a colleague.

 

They leave the boxing arena and pass the weight room on their way to the showers. Eggsy among the equipment doing chin ups in nothing but a pair of rugby shorts. Harry allows himself a second to stare at Eggsy’s back and the bunching of his well-defined muscles. Eggsy doesn’t seem to notice them. When they’re safely in the locker room, Tristan smirks at Harry.

 

“That the new Galahad?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I haven’t met him yet.” Tristan starts to strip.

 

“Be sure that you do. He’s an excellent agent.” Harry removes his clothes and wraps a towel around his waist. Tristan follows suit.

 

“Word is he’s Arthur’s favorite. That true?”

 

Harry scoffs. “Naturally. He was my proposal.” Tristan gives him an exasperated look. Harry doesn’t bother with giving him a sincere explanation and brushes past him into the showers.

 

\--

 

On the evening of the Gala, Eggsy, Merlin, Roxy, and Harry meet in the dining room of the Kingsman shop. Merlin has a spread of items in front of him on the table. Roxy has on small black dress and white satin gloves that extend up to her elbow. Her hair is styled elegantly to lay on one side. Across from her, Harry wears a three piece tuxedo and gold cufflinks. Eggsy stands beside Roxy in a white, standard issue uniform, looking adorably disgruntled, yet he still manages to make the frumpy, heavy garment look like Armani.

 

“Alright, you first Arthur,” Merlin says, turning to Harry. Merlin gives Harry a tube of lubricant and condoms. Roxy’s face turns completely red. Eggsy’s jaw clenches tightly. Harry takes them with detached curiosity. “The lubricant contains a nanotracker. You might not get to use it tonight, but just in case,” Merlin explains. Harry tucks them into the breast pocket of his jacket.

 

“What do the other things do then?” Eggsy asks. Roxy elbows him as Merlin says, dryly, “They prevent pregnancy and the spread of STD’s.” Harry knows what Eggsy meant, and the exasperated roll of Eggsy’s eyes makes Harry want to smile.

 

“Roxy, the broach and earrings are for you.” Merlin hands her a small silver butterfly pin with emerald wings and pearl earrings. “The broach has a camera and the earrings are a microphone and earpiece.” She puts on her jewelry.

 

“Eggsy, you can wear the glasses, as you’ll be doing mostly surveillance. I can give you a watch and a ring, but not a gun. I doubt you’ll need much more.” Merlin gives him the watch and ring. Eggsy slips on the modified accessories. “If you’re hiding any other weapons on your person, I want you to give them to me now.”

 

Eggsy glowers and reaches down to his ankle to pull out a dagger. He also puts a lighter on the table. Merlin quirks a brow. “Can I keep me shoes?”

 

“Yes, I suppose.

 

“Now, we will be communicating on a shared line with me at the helm. Do not interact with one another unless directed. Otherwise, Godspeed.” Merlin immediately heads back to the estate when no one has forthcoming questions or concerns.

 

Eggsy leaves first since his shift starts soon. Roxy leaves about ten minutes later. Harry checks himself in the mirror above the mantle to make last minute adjustments. His hair is parted and combed to perfection. His tuxedo is tailored within an inch of its life, and Harry’s glad he remained trim even after taking a desk job. In his opinion, he looks exactly like Mr. Andrew Holt, his millionaire persona for the night, but the meat will lie in his sexually deviant and hedonistic character. He has to perform well if he wants to catch Alcott’s interest.

 

The Gala is already underway when Harry arrives. He immediately spots Roxy in the crowd walking around with a tray of champagne glasses.

 

“Glad you could join us, Arthur,” Merlin says.  “Alcott is making his rounds. Standby.”

 

“Lancelot, let me find you next to Alcott,” Harry says, devising a plan on how to get his attention. Harry weaves through the crowd and pretends to search for a familiar face until Lancelot approaches him close to their target. Harry makes sure they are within Alcott’s sight.

 

“Champagne, sir?” she says demurely, angling the tray towards him.

 

“Yes, thank you darling,” he replies and makes a show of taking a glass. He trails his eyes from her face, down to linger at her bosom, and stops somewhere around her ankles before coming back up to her eyes. Lancelot blushes prettily, smiling shyly and slowly walking away. Harry watches her as she glances back at him and nearly crashes into another cocktail waitress. He can’t tell if she’s acting or not, but that just goes to show how impressive she is. Harry imagines he’ll owe her a very big apology later. He licks his lips and sips from his glass, contemplative as he watches Lancelot stutter excuses to her colleague.

 

“Arthur, what – “

 

“Pretty little thing.”

 

Harry turns and finds Alcott looking after Lancelot in the same way he had, full of undisguised interest and lust. “Indeed,” Harry agrees loftily, taking another sip. As if recognizing Alcott for a man of similar predilections, he adds, “Unfortunately, the prettier and younger, the greater the consequences.”

 

“I will certainly drink to that,” Alcott tips his glass in Harry’s direction and drinks from it. Harry pretends to shake himself out of less than innocent thoughts and introduces himself with a charming smile.

 

“Andrew Holt.”

 

Alcott’s eyes brighten. “Ah, Mr. Holt! I’m so glad to meet you. Thank you so much for your generous donation.” He shakes Harry’s hand.

 

“I’ll pass your sentiments on to my broker,” Harry says dryly.  

 

Alcott laughs. “I see. There is no better way to spend one’s money than to help a good cause. This was a good investment. I thank you all the same.”

 

“Mm, yes,” Harry agrees drolly, beckoning another waitress over. She looks just as young as Lancelot, though taller and curvier with wavy, red hair. Harry switches his empty glass for a full one, obviously appraising her body with his eyes as he does so. She seems to glow under his stare.

 

“May I get you anything else, sir?” she asks with a hopeful smile.

 

Harry glances at Alcott, who is watching him. “No thank you, dear girl.” The waitress smiles wider and saunters away. Harry hisses through his teeth. “I’d much rather like to spend my money on her.”

 

“I think you wouldn’t need have,” Alcott says, amused.

 

Harry looks at him over the rim of his glass. “Oh Mr. Alcott, I always do.” His tone implies he tastes with a more diverse palate. Alcott makes a sound of acknowledgement.

 

“Not many women, or men for that matter, are liberal in bed who also have the right balance of intelligence. I take it by your earlier comment, you’ve had some experiences with this.”

 

“And I do them all again,” Harry replies easily. “Although I wouldn’t mind more…organization to handle any misunderstandings, if you catch my meaning.”

 

“Is your broker involved with that as well?” Alcott teases.

 

“Naturally, he believes all problems are solved by money, and while that is not an issue for me, I would appreciate more selectivity and discretion for the value.”

 

“Discretion is difficult to come by,” Alcott commiserates. Harry nods and finishes his champagne. He decides that he’s made enough of an impression for now if the thoughtful look behind Alcott’s eyes is any indication.

 

“I apologize, Mr. Alcott. I’m being inappropriate in the presence of polite company,” Harry says contritely. “I should probably remake acquaintances. It was a sincere pleasure meeting you. Please excuse me.” He moves to leave, but Alcott stops him.

 

“Nonsense, Mr. Holt,” he says amiably. He looks around and lowers his voice. “I would much like to help you, actually.”

 

Harry shows his interest on his face and leans in. “Are you serious?” he asks hurriedly, eargerly.

 

“Veritably.”

 

“Mr. Alcott- “

 

“Henry, please.”

 

Harry guides them to a more private part of the ballroom. “Henry,” he says seriously, his expression carefully schooled, “I’ve had friends suggest services before, but I wasn’t very pleased with them. You understand.”

 

“What did you find the most unsatisfactory?”

 

“The discretion, mostly,” Harry replies. “I didn’t have a problem with the _goods_ per se, but there was room for improvement in the managerial side.”

 

“Well, Mr. Holt,” Alcott says with a smile, “I do believe you’re in luck. I have many projects, and one of them involves fulfilling certain needs of our peers. It provides both discretion and quality ‘goods’. Though my prices are disgustingly exorbitant.” Harry rubs a hand across his jaw, chuckling.

 

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he agrees. “Price is of no consequence.”

 

Alcott studies Harry closely for a few seconds, then, “You should meet me in my room after the Gala. We can talk more privately then. 408.”

 

“Of course,” says Harry with hushed, feverish delight. Alcott eats Harry’s enthusiasm right up, his eyes glittering.

 

“Excellent. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Mr. Holt.”

 

“Call me Andrew. And you as well, Henry.”

 

Alcott holds out his hand for a shake. Harry takes it. Smiling, the Dutchman moves away, quickly exchanging his empty glass for a full one and finding someone else to chat up. Harry gathers himself and seamlessly blends back into the crowd. He gives his empty glass to a waiter and looks over the snack spread.

 

“Excellent work as always, Arthur,” Merlin says because he’s never short with praise on where its due.  “Now that we know Alcott’s room number, Galahad can monitor it. He hasn’t reported any significant activity as of yet.” Harry makes an affirmative sound around a hors d’oeurve.  

 

“Have you tried the quiche?” asks a woman in a long, sparkling navy dress as she joins him. She’s around Harry’s age, with a blonde bob and hazel eyes outlined with kohl.

 

“Stay focused, Arthur,” Merlin jokes. “Tell her you’re lactose intolerant and move on.” Harry resists the urge to roll his eyes. Merlin likes to tease him about the large amount of age appropriate women that flock to him at these kinds of events. Harry and Merlin can combine their hands and count the number of times they’d nearly missed a target because a divorcee couldn’t keep her paws off Harry’s lapels.

 

“I haven’t. Are they any good?” he replies, making polite conversation. At least this way, he’ll be able to pass the time inconspicuously. He takes the mini, bite-sized quiche from its perch on a silver tower and pops it into his mouth. With the way she’s staring at his mouth, Harry knows he’s not going to have an easy time leaving the Gala alone. He swallows and says, “Quite good.”

 

“You’re welcome,” she says cheekily. Merlin guffaws in Harry’s ear. “I’m Jessica Goodman.” She holds out a hand, the palm facing downwards. Harry ignores Merlin’s obnoxious snickering and takes it, planting a light kiss on the smooth skin.

 

“Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Goodman. I’m Andrew Holt.”

 

“Call me Jessica. Or Miss Goodman.”

 

Harry hopes his answering smile isn’t too thin.

 

\--

 

By the night’s end, Harry passes off a drunk Jessica Goodman off to her friends near the valet. It’s a struggle at first, and Merlin’s fucking _laughing_ , underneath which Harry can hear Lancelot giggling. Eggsy is complaining about not being able to see jack shit and how he got the short end of the stick.

 

“It’s so rare to find a gentleman these days,” Jessica says, pressed close to Harry and feeling under his jacket even as her friends try to pull her off. “And so firm! You have the body of a man half your age.” Her hands start to trail lower. Harry abruptly grabs her wrists, and she trembles.

 

Merlin and Lancelot are laughing so hard Harry’s sure others can hear them. Eggsy’s gone strangely silent.

 

“I’m so sorry! She’s not usually like this,” one of the friends says, grabbing Jessica and trying to get her into the limo. “Please excuse her.” She glances curiously at Harry, however, her blue eyes lingering somewhere between Harry’s shoulders and thighs. Harry quickly lets go of Jessica and practically runs back into the hotel.

 

“Jesus,” Harry mutters, straightening his suit.

 

“Always so smooth with the ladies,” Merlin comments teasingly. “Anyway, Alcott’s room is on the fourth floor. Galahad?”

 

“Yeah, he’s just entered. I didn’t see anyone else go in,” Eggsy replies.

 

“It’s a go,” Merlin says.

 

Harry calls the lift and rides it up to the fourth floor. He passes Eggsy along the way wheeling a cart for room service. At 408, Harry knocks on the door. Alcott opens it.

 

“Andrew, welcome.” He steps back and allows Harry to enter. Harry inconspicuously takes stock of the suite, but there’s nothing special or noteworthy in the room. Alcott follows him.

 

“Shall we get to business then?” Harry says, turning to him excitedly.

 

“Yes. I want to give you this.” Alcott pulls out a cardholder from his jacket and opens it. He holds up a plain white card between his fingers, but Harry can see that it’s not made of paper.  “This, my friend, will grant you entry into any of my clubs.” Harry makes to take it, but Alcott pulls it back. “I have conditions, first.”

 

“Of course,” Harry says tightly with just enough patience. “Let’s hear them.”

 

“You must not tell anyone you got this from me. Discretion is very important to you, yes? I value it very highly myself. This card, once activated, will be linked only to you. The payment and escort information is on the website, which you can only access with the unique code on here.”

 

Harry looks impressed. “Shit.”

 

“These safeguards are very important, Andrew. If anyone exposes my service, we will all be at risk.”

 

“Of course. I understand, and you have my word.”

 

“Excellent.” Alcott hands him the card. Harry takes it and pretends to study it reverently. “You need to scan this to enter the club. The access code is your identifier, so no personal information is collected. You will need it to reserve escorts as well, which you can do online or call. The addresses of all my clubs are online.”

 

“Perfect,” Harry says, pocketing the card. “Is it open tonight?”

 

“It’s open three-hundred sixty-five days a year, twenty four-seven,” Alcott replies with a grin.

 

Harry smirks. “I can’t wait. It was very fortuitous that I ran into you tonight, my friend.”

 

“I agree. If you have difficulties with the initial log in process, there’s a number on the card as well.”

 

“Very, very good.” Harry shakes his hand again. Alcott claps his hand on Harry’s shoulder and gently leads him to the door.

 

“I’m glad to have you as a client, Andrew. I do hope you enjoy the rest of your night.”

 

“I intend to,” Harry says, walking through the door when Alcott opens it. “Good night!”

 

Harry casually makes his way out of the hotel as Merlin tells Eggsy and Roxy to abandon their posts. Harry sees a Kingsman cab pulling into the driveway and hails for as if it were by coincidence. Once inside, he pulls out the card and turns it in his hands.

 

“Anything?” he asks, touching the left side of his glasses to activate their analyzing activity.

 

“No frequency, so it’s not a transmitter of any kind,” Merlin says. “There’s holographic writing with the access code, website and phone number. It looks like it has a microchip inside, probably to unlock doors at the clubs. I’ll need to take a closer look at it when you get to HQ.”

 

Harry glances at his watch. It’s nearly midnight.

 

“I’ll set up an account at home tonight. We can look over it tomorrow.”

 

“Aye. Sounds like a plan. Mission bloody well accomplished, if I do say so. Lancelot and Galahad can debrief at 0900 tomorrow.”

 

Harry takes off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t expected to get the card on the first try. His acting must have been better than he anticipated, though Harry knows how to play people better than situations. Alcott looks for wealthy, impulsive and unrestrained individuals, but also with a need for secrecy. In the time it took from their initial conversation to the hotel room, Harry didn’t doubt that Alcott was doing more research on him. Alcott is careful, but also greedy. Harry used that knowledge to his advantage.

 

The lights are on his Harry’s home, and Harry’s heart skips a beat at the implication - only Eggsy would be audacious enough to make it as though he lives there - but Harry isn’t sure if he wants to see him just yet. They’d just finished a mission, and Harry is still keyed up from his part of it. He’s too exhausted to confront his feelings for Eggsy and beat them back for the time it’d take to get him to leave. Yet a greater part of Harry was to explain to Eggsy that whatever he might have overheard tonight was just an act. But he can’t do that without confessing that he only wants Eggsy, will ever _only want Eggsy_ , and if Eggsy could read his mind right fucking now, he’ll know. Nothing says being wrapped around one’s finger like thinking of ways to grovel when you haven’t done anything wrong.

 

He leaves the cab and enters his home casually, as if Eggsy’s presence isn’t making him anxious. Harry finds Eggsy sitting at the dining table, a glass of whiskey in hand. He can already tell it’s not Eggsy’s first.

 

“Eggsy,” he says, putting his folded glasses on the table. “What are you doing here? The mission’s over. You should go home.” He takes the glass from Eggsy’s hand and downs the rest of its contents. He’ll need much more.

 

Eggsy stares up at Harry, a determined look on his face, and its aggressiveness startles Harry.  Eggsy gets up, the sound of the chair scraping on the floor loud in Harry’s ears. He’s out of his white uniform and in a plain white shirt and sweatpants. Harry doesn’t move back to give him space, leaving barely a foot between them. Eggsy tilts his head to look up at him challengingly.

 

“You know, I almost thought you didn’t feel nothin’,” Eggsy begins humorlessly. Even through all the layers of his tuxedo, Harry can feel Eggsy’s body warmth radiating off him.

 

“Eggsy,” Harry steadies his voice with as authority as he can gather because this conversation isn’t going anywhere good, and it can’t be allowed to go further. “We should talk about this tomorrow. Now that’s enough.”

 

“No,” Eggsy says like the insolent boy he is. “No, we’re havin’ this out. You can’t just fucking ignore me for weeks and not listen to me when I’ve got somethin’ to say.”

 

Harry grits his teeth because he isn’t interested in what Eggsy has to say, not when he’s a hair’s breadth away from slamming Eggsy against the wall and taking what he wants, when he can’t stand being this close to him without being able to reach out and touch him – to claim and to keep. How can he listen when all he can think about is how Eggsy mouthing off to him sets his blood on fire? No one ever just takes from Harry like they own him the way Eggsy does. The pretentiousness and audacity of it should send Harry into a righteous rage, but it only makes him want to _give more_. And the simple fact that his darling, sweet Eggsy is completely unaware of the way he can bring Harry to his knees chips relentlessly away at Harry’s control, leaving ribbons and chunks of it strewn about, never to be reassembled again.

 

“What the bloody hell is it, then?!” Harry demands, frustrated. He’s broken many gentlemanly codes tonight, all purposefully and for his role as Andrew Holt, but this last one is treading the fine line. It’s for keeping it from crossing that he sent Eggsy away in the first place. It’s why they shouldn’t be having this conversation right now.

 

“The way you looked at Roxy,” Eggsy says, his voice suddenly quiet and still, like a revelation. Harry’s blood turns cold. “I’ve seen that look before.”

 

Harry’s breath steals out of him, and he can’t get it back. His mind races, trying to remember when he might have slipped, but it could have been during any number of the times when Eggsy was in the room with him. Harry stares at him so often that he wouldn’t be surprised if his fidelity rate dropped suddenly and revealed everything he feels for Eggsy. He already accepted weeks ago that this obsession, this love, for Eggsy will consume them both, and instead of fighting it, he decided to let it go because the alternative was this: losing Eggsy completely.

 

Harry can’t do that.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says weakly, pathetically. Eggsy averts his eyes, looking absolutely devastated, and in the slow second it takes for Harry to decipher _why_ Eggsy would react that way, Eggsy yells, “You are a fucking piece of shit!” Eggsy turns away, maybe to run out into the night, Harry doesn’t know, but he grabs onto his wrist and holds him tight. Eggsy struggles. “Let go of me!”

 

“Listen to me, Eggsy,” Harry says urgently because this is important. They’ve miscommunicated somehow, and Harry needs to get them on the same page. Eggsy stops struggling but doesn’t face him. “If you think I was acting with you, I wasn’t. I never was. Tonight, yes, with Lancelot and the other waitress. But never with you, Eggsy. God.” He releases Eggsy, who turns to him, his hurt now replaced by stunned confusion. Harry sighs, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. It’s now or never. He’s already revealed himself, and he can’t let Eggsy walk out of here without knowing the truth.

 

“What I feel for you, Eggsy, it isn’t appropriate,” he explains, his adrenaline making him short of breath. “I’m your mentor, and you trust me, and I’m sure you hold me in the highest regard. But I’m undeserving of all that. I’m not the gentleman you think I am.” Eggsy’s lips part, a flush rising high on his cheeks, and the words flow easier out of Harry. “I’m completely taken by you, Eggsy. I want to touch you and taste you, bruise every inch of your body with my mouth and my hands, and possess you completely. I want to hear you moan for me, beg for me to fuck you harder, deeper, until you can feel me in your throat. I want to steal you away, keep you chained to my bed for my pleasure and give you everything. Oh Eggsy, my dear boy, I want to give you world. You only need to ask for it, anything, and it’s yours. You lovely, infuriating, beautiful boy.”

 

He’s barely caught his breath before Eggsy is on him, crushing their mouths together. Harry catches them and grabs Eggsy around his arse, kneading the firm globes of flesh as he presses their bodies tightly together and grinds. Eggsy breaks the kiss with a deep groan that goes straight to Harry’s cock. Harry finds Eggys’s neck and attacks it viciously, sucking and biting angry marks on the pale column of flesh, determined to leave his mark on its entire surface. Eggsy whimpers and sighs, his hands scrabbling at the back of Harry’s head in encouragement. Harry easily lifts Eggsy and places him on the table. He settles between Eggsy’s legs and grinds their hips together.

 

“Harry,” Eggsy moans, tilting his head back and exposing more of his throat. Harry bites hard at the nape of his neck and shoulder. “Harry! God, fuck!” Harry kisses him again and starts pulling off Eggsy’s sweatpants. Eggsy lifts himself up enough to get them off. Harry runs his hands along Eggsy’s bare thighs and starts stroking his cock, thick and damp from at the tip. Eggsy pushes his hands between Harry’s arms and works Harry’s trousers open. Harry groans when hot, eager hands grasp onto his dick.

 

This isn’t how Harry expected their first time to go, and he promises that the next time will be so much better, that he’ll worship Eggsy’s body like it’s meant to be. For now, he knocks Eggsys hands away and brings their cocks together, the height of the table being perfect just for that, and starts stroking them together. There’s enough precum and sweat between the two of them to make it an easy glide, allowing him to make it a fast, rough wank. Harry bites the juncture of Eggsy’s jaw and neck, and Eggsy’s back arches as he comes with a choked off moan. His dick spurts hot and thick between them, the sight and feel of it triggering Harry’s orgasm. He buries his face in Eggsy’s neck and growls as he coats them further in come.

 

They stay together for a few seconds until Eggsy’s arms give out and he falls back on the table. Harry takes in the sight of his flushed chest and the half dozen bites on his neck. A deep, animalistic part of him preens.

 

“Holy shit,” Eggsy sighs, blissful. Harry leans down and kisses his neck softly in apology. Eggsy laughs and squirms. “Tickles, ‘Arry.”

 

“Apologies,” Harry murmurs, pulling away. He takes out his pocket square and wipes his hand clean, then turns it over and wipes Eggsy clean as much as he can, but the fabric is already soaked through. He plays with the idea of stuffing it into Eggsy’s mouth and having him suck on it. He steps out of his trousers and hangs them over the chair. Eggsy eventually sits up.

 

“I want to go to bed,” he says. Harry smiles at him.

 

“Yes, my dear boy.”

 

Their progress up the steps is slowed by touches and kisses. By the time they get to the landing, Eggsy is rock hard and raring to go again. Harry isn’t there just yet. In the bedroom, Eggsy slowly removes Harry’s jacket, waistcoat and shirt. He tosses them over the dresser then peels off his shirt. He then pulls Harry’s head down for a kiss, his fingers deep in the other agent’s hair. Harry wraps his arms around Eggsy’s waist as they snog unhurriedly, licking and exploring with lips and tongue.

 

Harry lays Eggsy on the bed and starts kissing his way down Eggsy’s body. He pays homage to perky, tanned nipples for a few minutes each, just to see if there’s any sensitivity there (a little). He licks at the dried come on his abs and traces the defined lines of muscle with his tongue. Eggsy’s cock drags impatiently under Harry’s chin as he moves lower, leaving a wet trail of precum under his jaw.

 

“You’re gorgeous,” Harry whispers against the hot, silky flesh of Eggsy’s cock. Eggsy arches slightly and runs his hands through Harry’s hair.

 

“Harry,” Eggsy whines. Harry licks and sucks at Eggsy’s cock, not teasing but not applying enough satisfying friction. Heat continues to pool low in his abdomen at every tug on his hair and soft, pleading sigh that leaves Eggsy’s lips. Harry moans appreciatively.

 

After a few minutes, Eggsy sits up and gets Harry to lay on his back. Eggsy lies over him and kisses him sweetly, one hand in his hair and the other around his erection. He peppers kisses down Harry’s body, stopping at several scars along the way, until he has Harry’s cock in front of his face. He looks up at Harry and fucking winks, as if he knows how he looks to Harry right now, how having him there, not even with Harry’s dick in his mouth, is enough to make Harry come all over his face. And shit, Harry would like very much to paint his face white with his seed.

 

“Are you just going to kip down there, then?” Harry says. Eggsy grins at him, gives him that full-faced, happy smile, and licks a ghost of a stripe up from Harry’s sac to the tip of his cock. Harry props himself up on his elbows to get a better view.

 

“With that attitude, I just might.” He swirls his tongue around the glistening tip. Harry briefly considers throwing Eggsy on his back, pressing his knees to his chest, and fucking the cheekiness right out of him. Eggsy’s eyes darken, his pupils blown wide. “Yes, Harry,” he murmurs thickly. “That’s it.” He takes Harry into his mouth and begins to suck hungrily, his hair shielding his face from view as he gets to work. Harry tries to breathe through it, to keep from thrusting himself deeper down Eggsy’s throat. Eggsy’s enthusiasm compensates for his lack of finesse, and at another time, Harry would like to teach him how to suck him properly. Oh, all the things he could teach Eggsy about his body, so that if Eggsy so desired, he could have Harry coming with a simple touch and a command. Harry would be so good for him.

 

“Eggsy, stop,” Harry says breathlessly, gently pushing at his shoulder. Eggsy makes a sound of complaint but obeys, a string of saliva connecting his lips to Harry’s cock. Harry quickly gathers himself and gets up to rummage through his jacket. He pulls out the lube and condoms. Eggsy smirks at him and lies back like he fucking belongs on Harry’s bed, the lean lines of him enticing Harry to kneel between his legs. Harry uncaps the tube, Merlin’s voice in his head complaining about high tech Kingsman resources being used recreationally, and not being arsed to care that it’ll pop up on Merlin’s computer as having been activated.

 

He kisses Eggsy as he works a finger inside him. Eggsy shudders and wraps his arms around Harry, his legs spreading wider. Harry carefully loosens the muscles by coaxing Eggsy with gentle words and strokes. He only adds more fingers when Eggsy asks for them, and soon he’s got three buried to the knuckle.

 

“Alright?” Harry asks him against the corner of his mouth.

 

“Yeah,” Eggsy breathes. “Good, Harry. More.”

 

Harry kneels up and searches for the condom. Eggsy takes it from him and opens it with trembling fingers. Harry plants a kiss in Eggsy’s hair as Eggsy takes the rubber and puts it over Harry’s cock. Eggsy then takes the lube and squeezes a fair amount on before spreading it around evenly. He lies back down, pulling Harry with him. Harry hooks one arm under Eggsy’s knee and slowly pushes his way in.

 

Even through the latex, Harry can feel how hot Eggsy is around him. Harry buries his face in Eggsy’s neck as he sinks inside, centimeter by excruciating centimeter, because although the clenching heat his killing him, he’d rather embarrass himself than hurt Eggsy. He pays close attention to every breath, every shift of Eggsy until he’s fully seated, and they’re flushed together as much as physically possible. Eggsy gives a shuddering sigh.

 

“Shit,” he curses. “You’re fucking big.”

 

Harry presses a kiss to Eggsy’s shoulder. “You’re a flatterer.”

 

“No. Fucking hell, Harry. I need you to move. God, _please_.”

 

Harry knows he’s said more than enough tonight and is completely committed to following up his words with his actions. He leans back enough to look at Eggsy and starts a languid, steady pace. Eggsy’s flushed from his cheekbones to his chest, his lips reddened and wet, and his eyes are bright. Harry twines the fingers of his free hand with Eggsy’s and mouths along the younger man’s jaw to keep his lips occupied lest he start babbling nonsense. Eggsy’s fingers tighten their hold on his as he brings his other arm around Harry’s back to scrape at his shoulder blades. He punctuates each thrust with a slight roll of his hips that makes Eggsy sigh and writhe deliciously against him. They kiss and breathe shared air and feast on any spot of exposed skin their mouths can reach. Harry can do this all night, just feeling Eggsy’s incredible body around and against him and listening to his quiet mewls and sighs of pleasure. But when he guides them off the edge for the third time, Eggsy groans, frustrated and desperate.

 

“Please,” he begs, peering into Harry’s eyes with vulnerable, soulful ones of his own. “I want to come, Harry.” Eggsy is absolutely breath-taking - completely bare and stripped down to nothing but a boy with a heart so pure, Harry can only hope it could absolve him of his own selfish, impure thoughts through osmosis. He can’t deny him anything like this, and if Eggsy is the last thing Harry sees, Harry would happily close his eyes and never open them again.

 

He releases Eggsy and pulls completely out as he straightens. He takes a moment to stare at Eggsy’s puffy, gaping entrance and revels in the idea Eggsy’s body will be reluctant to forget the shape of him. There’s a sizeable puddle of precum on Eggsy’s abdomen, and Harry regrets having tortured him for so long. He hooks both of Eggsy’s knees over his elbows and hauls Eggsy to him by his thighs. Harry then rests his palms on either side of Eggsy’s chest, opening him up further. Eggsy lets out a surprised gasp when Harry thrusts back in roughly without warning.

 

“Fuck!” Eggsy yells, clawing at Harry’s shoulders as Harry begins to fuck him in earnest, each snap of his hips accompanied by a loud slap of their bodies colliding. “Oh, Harry. Shit, _shit_.” Harry loves an Eggsy undone by slow love-making, but seeing him like this, wild and lustful, hits Harry long a strong dose of aphrodisiac. He changes the angles of his hips, searching out Eggsy’s prostate. He knows he’s found it when Eggsy tosses his head back and comes violently, his cock pulsing as his essence arcs high and lands all over his chest. Harry chases his own orgasm with quick, shallow thrusts until he buries himself as deep as he can go and fills the condom, a guttural, “ _Eggsy,_ ” torn from his soul and out through his lips. His vision turns spotty before his lungs remember to function properly.

 

They catch their breaths for a few minutes. Eggsy presses the heels of his hands to his eyes.

 

“Jesus, fuck,” he says hoarsely. “I can’t feel my toes.” Harry chuckles and slowly extricates himself from Eggsy’s limbs. He takes a hold of the condom as he slips out and ties it off before aiming it somewhere in the direction of the bin. His back is starting to hurt, and he probably has a fair amount of scratches on his shoulder blades if the stinging there is anything to go by. He rests his forehead on Eggsy’s chest, uncaring of the globs of come, and lets his heartbeat match Eggsy’s. Eggsy brings a hand to his head.

 

“Is there nothin’ you can’t do?” Eggsy muses, sounding utterly besotted. Harry makes a contemplating noise.

 

“I can’t bake,” he replies facetiously. He’s never actually tried baking. He leans up and kisses Eggsy chastely. “I can’t stay away from you.”

 

Eggsy smiles. “Good.” His fingers tighten possessively where they rest in Harry’s hair.

 

They can’t be bothered to clean up, so they climb under the covers and promptly fall asleep.

 

\--

 

Harry wakes up the next morning at eight, four hours after their heads hit the pillow and two hours later than his usual time to crawl out of bed. Eggsy is plastered to his side, an arm thrown across his chest. Harry’s arm is nestled underneath Eggsy’s neck. He considers sleeping in, but Merlin will want to see the key card and Galahad has a debriefing. Merlin is going to lecture him about being late again, not to mention he’ll want to know about the use of the Kingsman issued lube.

 

He ghosts his fingers over the marks on Eggsy’s neck and takes his shoulder. “Eggsy,” he says, both guilty for waking him but filled with a sense of duty, “We’re going to be late.”

 

Eggsy blinks his eyes open and squints at Harry, who kisses his forehead. He smiles and pulls Harry in closer. Harry watches him fondly. He could get used to waking up like this every morning, sore yet well rested. “Morning,” the younger man says. Seeing Eggsy so happy makes Harry want to have him again.

 

“Good morning, Eggsy. I should have known you would be a cuddler,” he teases. Eggsy clamps his teeth over Harry’s pectoral. “I knew you’d be a biter.”

 

“Can’t say the same for you,” Eggsy says with a smirk, sitting up. Harry tries not to let his pleasure show when Eggsy hisses. “You fuck like you fight, Arthur. Jesus Christ.”

 

“I can get you Paracetamol,” Harry says guiltily, already halfway out of bed. “We should check for blood.” He didn’t think he’d been rough, but he could have gotten carried away without his knowledge. He’s a terrible man.

 

“What? No, I feel fuckin’ amazing, Harry.” Eggsy kneels up on the bed and wraps his arms around Harry’s shoulders. “As if I needed another thing to love about you.” He lowers his eyes shyly. Harry tilts his chin up gently. “Did you mean what you said last night? All of it?” Eggsy asks quietly, suddenly insecure.

 

Harry looks into his eyes. “Yes, Eggsy,” he replies vehemently. “Every word.” He touches Eggsy’s mottled neck. In the morning light, they look dark and painful. Eggsy’s lashes flutter slightly. “I’m terribly smitten with you, but you have to tell me if this is not what you want.” He doesn’t realize his hand is shaking until Eggsy reaches up and takes it.

 

“I want everything,” Eggsy says, kissing Harry’s fingers. “It’s as you said: I just take and take. An’ I’m entitled to take what’s mine, ain’t I?” Harry’s heart stutters dangerously in his chest, overwhelmed by the sheer force of his affection for Eggsy. How this perfect, guileless, boy came to him, he’ll never know.

 

“You certainly are,” he agrees, delighting in the way Eggsy’s eyes darken. “We need a shower.” He slips out of Eggsy’s hold and goes to the bathroom. He hears Eggsy nearly fall out of bed in his scramble to follow him.

 

In the shower, they take turns soaping each other’s bodies. Harry makes sure to clean Eggsy thoroughly, so that all the lube is gone, but it’s still too late to escape Merlin’s wrath. Eggsy gets hard under his ministrations, and Harry takes responsibility for it by fingering him and stroking his cock until he comes. Eggsy gets down on his knees to reciprocate by giving him a blow job and even lets Harry come all over his face.

 

Harry had the suits Eggsy left behind dry cleaned, so Eggsy has something decent to wear. The collar isn’t able to hide four of the dozen or so bruises, they are so high up. Harry recommends an ascot, but it’s so fashionably unsettling that they decide to just leave it as it is. It would be considered unprofessional, but Harry is the boss and he certainly doesn’t mind. He wasn’t exactly thinking at the time, except that Eggsy’s neck wasn’t going to stay a blank canvas for long.

 

They make and eat breakfast together even though they will be well over an hour late by the time they get to HQ. He calls for the Kingsman cab and makes sure he has the key card on him before they leave. When the cab pulls up nearly twenty minutes later, Eggsy hands him his umbrella and kisses Harry square on the lips before letting himself out. Harry locks up behind them with a small smile.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm obsessed with not-a-gentleman Harry but I might have failed. :/ Part two may take a while....


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